brighter stars
by The13thVasilisa
Summary: Stepha, the youngest princess of Eraklyon, is determined to escape her miserable family, dark palace, and warring planet, so she steals a craft and escapes to Alfea, the school her mother forbid her from attending. There she and her new friends realize they're linked by dark secrets and old enemies, and suddenly more than just Eraklyon hangs in the balance. [winx club next gen]
1. colder than this home

**Title: second chances**

 **Rating: T**

 **Summary: In a dark castle on a destitute planet, a king, queen, and their three daughters live out their days. The youngest, Stepha, is determined to escape her miserable family, so she steals a necklace and runs all the way to Magix, hoping for a fresh start. But Alfea isn't all she'd hoped, and troubles at home may just pull her back in. [next gen story]**

 **a/n: what is up, you guys! This story has been in my head for a crazy long time (it was actually inspired by Frozen when it first came out, to give yall** **a sense of the timeframe. I don't think any of those elements are still in the story, though, because of how long I've had this sitting in my documents, worked on every so often. I think this will be my most OC heavy fan fiction, even though I'm usually not happy with that, it's a next gen, so kind of required.**

 **FYIs: this is a Winx next-gen story; I stopped watching Winx at season 4, though I've incorporated a few select elements of later seasons; some elements, like the Eraklyonian civil war, are from the comics, but this is mostly based on the show. Thanks.**

* * *

 _The Royal Palace_

 _Magal, Eraklyon_

When I was little, war made me laugh.

My most vivid early-childhood memory is my nanny Gemma holding me on her hip, standing on a balcony of the palace. I feel really safe because her arms are tight around me. I'm maybe five, no older than seven. My older sisters are leaning out into the air, their arms dangling over the edge of the marble bannister, giggling and talking. It's a hot summer night, and every so often the entire sky will light up with a flash, like lightning, but with a huge crack. And it makes me laugh, seeing the whole grounds of the palace lit up for a moment with white light, feeling the little earthquakes that come with every blast.

I ask Gemma where my parents are, and she replies with an outstretched arm, pointing towards the far, faraway lights. "Your parents are in the mountains, baby. They're fighting to keep you girls safe."

"Mommy and Daddy are so strong," Anastasia tells me expertly. "Did you know Mommy is the most powerful fairy in the whole universe?"

And at that moment, I was really enjoying myself, watching the illuminations in the sky, staying up past my bedtime, laughing with my sisters. I thought it was beautiful. I wanted to stay in that moment forever.

That's my last memory before things started to go wrong.

* * *

When I was shaken awake in the dark, my first thought was, _the rebels have gotten into the palace, and we are going to die._

But it wasn't that nightmare of my childhood. It was my sister, Anastasia, a worse kind of nightmare. "Stepha!" She was yelling. "Why aren't you up yet? Stepha? It's nine already!" She kept shaking me even after I groaned to indicate my consciousness, and I swatted her away.

"I'm getting up, I'm up." I stayed still, hoping she'd just go away. "Great Dragon, I thought it was an emergency."

She was pacing, I saw out of the corner of my eye, throwing open the curtains, sticking her head in my closet. "It is an emergency! Get dressed! The Lord Minister is coming in an hour and he just called!"

"At nine in the morning?" I surrendered and got out of bed, shivering in my pajamas and the cold air. This castle was always cold because of how much it cost to heat.

"You know him; he's always trying to catch us unawares," grumbled my sister, throwing a dress out of my closet.

"What does he want?"

Two shoes flew by, narrowly missing my head. Anastasia's voice was muffled, still searching for something. "Who knows? It's always something and it never means anything. A ribbon cutting, a new museum, greeting some stupid prince."

There wasn't much to say to that so I turned my attention to her invasion of my privacy. "Can you get out of my closet?"

"Where are your black patterned tights?" Anastasia said, mostly to herself, ignoring my request. I didn't reply and reluctantly pulled the dress over my head.

Anastasia was my oldest sister and our parents' favorite. She was also a control freak who was obsessed with making our parents happy, and she didn't like me because I didn't always do everything she said. But she was also the only one keeping the royal family of Eraklyon somewhat afloat, so where the lord minister was concerned it was best not to argue. I swatted her out of my closet instead. "I'll find them, calm down."

She glared at me. "We can't look like idiots in front of him. He already thinks we're a joke."

"We are a joke," I replied. "We're princesses who live in a castle with a leaky roof."

The door to my room opened and we both turned around to see Gemma standing there. She had watched and helped each of us grow up, and stayed on as the housekeeper even though almost all the other servants had left or been let go. Whatever we were paying her, it wasn't enough—partially because of the craziness she had to endure, and partially because we were very, very poor. "Princess Anastasia, Princess Stepha—the prime minister is here."

Anastasia scrambled up, forgetting the tights. "Come on, come on!"

We followed Gemma down the stairs. To get to the foyer we had to pass through the ballroom, which was dark and dusty, with sheets draped over all the furniture, including the imperial thrones. "Where's Micheal?" Anastasia hissed as we stumbled into the receiving room next to the foyer. She refused to answer the door herself, said it was unbecoming of a princess.

Unfortunately, we had exactly three servants left: Gemma, a cook, and Micheal, a teenage servant whose job changed daily depending on what we needed him for—craft driver, errand-boy, messenger, and on days like today, butler. However...

"You gave him the day off last week," I replied, rising from the sofa we had just sat down on. "I'll get the door—"

Anastasia yanked me down by the sleeve. "You'll do no such thing! Gemma—"

Gemma nodded, though I detected a bit of sarcasm in her 'yes, your Highness,'. I knew she loved Anastasia, but she was the only one other than me who didn't take her seriously all the time. It was hard to. She was so uptight about everything. Everything had to be perfect. Everything was always a disaster with her. Her childhood nickname was Nasta. I liked to refer to her as Nasty in my head.

"Don't say anything, Stepha," Anastasia snapped at me as the footsteps of the prime minister approached. "I'll talk. You just smile. When appropriate."

"I really don't care—" I was saying when the door opened and Gemma lead in the minister. Being princesses we didn't stand, but he had to bow. There was something nearly mocking about it, I thought. Of course, I thought that about everything the prime minister did because just the fact that he existed was mocking us. He knew we were a joke. He had seized power from my father for just that reason. Now we were only royal in name, and it was all his fault. It wasn't like I was a big fan of my dad, but I _hated_ the prime minister.

If my family had stayed royal, maybe we would've stayed happy. If my family had started out normal, maybe we would have stayed happy. The minister's sudden tearing of the crown away from my father was what really did us in, and my parents never recovered. I don't think any of us really did.

"Princess Anastasia," Lord Minister greeted her first, always, and bowed, but not as low as was respectful. He was the same age as my father but didn't look quite as old, maybe because the last decade hadn't been as hard on him. "I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry I haven't been in contact with the castle recently."

She smiled brightly, demurely. Anastasia's public self and her private self were one and the same. She thought everyone should be a perfect princess all the time.

I was the forgotten princess, even when I was being stared at. He simply nodded his head a little to me. "Princess Stephania, how are you this morning?"

"Fine, LOrd Minister," I heard myself say.

"Excellent," he replies briskly, clapping his hands together. "Now, shall we talk in the sitting room?"

"Of course, Lord Minister," Anastasia said charmingly. "I'm having tea prepared."

Sure enough, there was tea when we walked into the sunroom. Gemma was really fast. I realized I hadn't had breakfast yet and planned to stuff a biscuit in my mouth as soon as politely possible.

"Please, Princess," he said with a polite smile, "how many times have I asked you to omit the titles? They make me feel very old."

Anastasia didn't look up from carefully pouring tea, but her voice wavered slightly.

"Of course, Lord Brandon."

I let myself zone out. Anastasia, the bitchy glue holding our family together, was the only one who really needed to be here. I was just for show, to show that there were two sane members of the royal family. But two out of five is a sucky record, especially for the family who are allegedly running the planet. And Anastasia's just privately crazy instead of publicly. Maybe Lord Brandon was right to take the crown from my dad. But I still hated that man.

He always told us to tell him if we need anything. What a joke. He had never given us anything, and had taken plenty.

I tried not to sigh when I felt his attentions turn to me.

"I hope your Highnesses' summer has gone well."

It hadn't. Nothing goes well here. I had no friends at my tiny school for nobles near the castle, and all the nobles hate the monarchy nowadays. I had no money, so I couldn't go anywhere. So without school to distract me, I spent my days like I usually did, hiding from everyone in deserted or boarded up parts of the castle. When I wanted to get really crazy, I visited my sister Emily and had a roundabout conversation more circular (and pointless) than the second sun of Solaria.

"It's been wonderful," Anastasia said. "Thank you for asking."

"Princess Stephania, you're fifteen, correct? Starting college?"

Why did we need so much smalltalk? And why did it all have to involve me?

Anastasia spoke over me. "Princess Stephania is going to follow me to Magal Fairy College. It's so close we can walk there every morning." Even though she smiled, I know she hated the school, and she hated even more having to walk there herself. It was fine. We didn't look like princesses, so no one paid much attention to us anyway.

"Really? Not Alfea?" Lord Brandon looked surprised. "With three daughters, I always thought one of you would want to follow in your mother's footsteps and go there."

We both cringed and smiled, and I didn't say, like I wanted to, _it took you four months to get a check back to us for Anastasia's college books last year, and every time she writes you, petitioning to have our allowance raised for her educational expenses, you send back a very polite letter that says no. How could we afford Alfea? We can't even afford boarding costs at Magal._

And the truth is, I do want to go to Alfea, kind of. 'Go' being the operative word, not 'Alfea'. I want to get as far away from my family as possible and start over—and the best school in the world seems like a good way to do it. And I could do it, I think. As a descendant of my mom, I have the Dragon Fire, even though I'm not really that good at magic.

But whatever. It's out of the question no matter what.

"We're staying close to home," Anastasia said with a tight, forced smile. "It's better for our parents that way."

"Well, no matter what you choose you would be in great company. Magal is a great school, right in the capitol, and Alfea? Just ask the Queen. It's a top-notch education."

I smiled and nodded and prayed to the Great Dragon. Make him talk to Anastasia again please please please.

The Great Dragon granted my prayer and he turned to Anastasia.

"Um." Lord Brandon said, his easygoing expression slipping for the first time since he had come in. "How are Sky and Bloom?"

"'Their Majesties' to you, Lord Brandon," Anastasia said with an icy, gnashing smile, and for once I was grateful for how mean she was to everyone. She could be as mean as she wanted to Lord Brandon. "And they're fine." She didn't elaborate, come up with some excuse as to why the two of us were meeting him instead of the king and queen. He already knew all the issues.

I let my eyes wander out the sunroom window as he continued to speak with Anastasia. The sunroom was the brightest room in the house, because it was the only one with windows that faced out from the front of the palace, out onto the front lawns. Our whole house was really dim and dark all the time—because of heating and air costs, and the fact that we only had Gemma for upkeep, we only lived in our bedrooms, the sun room, and the smaller of the two dining rooms. All the other rooms were covered in sheets and a few wings were even boarded up, although you could get past them if you knew your way around the castle like I did.

I almost yelped when I felt a sharp pinch on my thigh but I didn't, and just in time for me to catch Anastasia's words. "Of course, minister! Won't a ball here be lovely, Princess Stephania?"

"Yeah. Yes." I stumbled with my words even though I didn't know what I was agreeing to. Anastasia made most of the decisions around here anyway, since Mom and Dad had too many issues, and hated Lord Brandon too much to interact with him.

"It's to celebrate the one hundredth anniversary of the unification of Eraklyon," Lord Brandon said, "though I'm sure your Highnesses are already aware. It would be excellent if we could have it here, especially because many royals attend these events, and because it would be an display of...civic pride by the government. Cooperation."

He paused for a moment before saying 'civic pride', and I knew what he meant. The people of Eraklyon really liked my parents. It was most of the reason my dad wasn't just fired from being king. I didn't know why they liked them so much. I didn't even like them that much.

"Of course," said Anastasia. "Perhaps you can have someone call me to work out the details."

"Great," Lord Brandon said, standing up. We stood up too, to walk him to the door, and continued towards it. "Great, great. Thanks for being so accommodating, your Highness. Oh—" he turned as though he'd forgotten something. "I can have the jewels sent over a few days before the ball, if that's alright with you. Assuming that your family—"

"Yes. Yes," Anastasia said uncomfortably. "Yes, thank you, Minister. Have a good day."

She broke her own rule and closed the door herself with a slam.

Five seconds passed. I stood behind her, waiting for the inevitable.

And Anastasia screamed in frustration, flinging sparks from her fingers. "Damn that _jackass_!"

I rolled my eyes. It wasn't like I liked Lord Brandon, but after every visit Anastasia threw the same tantrum, and this one would be even worse because of that jewels comment.

"What kind of royalty has to borrow their jewels?" Anastasia yelled (continued to yell), stalking off down the hallway. It was a long hallway, through, and her voice carried long after she disappeared around a bend. "The smug look on his face when he asks if I want them. If my parents want to wear _their_ crowns to a ball celebrating _their_ rule. But he has to make us ask for everything! The crown princess had to beg for the crown jewels...we have to beg for everything, _anything_...!"

Gemma, who had waited in the room with us, now followed Anastasia, probably to calm her somehow or make her eat breakfast or something. Reminded of my own hunger, I went to the kitchen.

Our cook was not there, which wasn't surprising. Truthfully, she wasn't very reliable, but we weren't either, so I didn't fault her. But she must have gone shopping in the past few days because we had bread and jam and eggs and cheese, so, like most days, I made myself scrambled eggs and toast and took it to the sun room, which had a television.

I flickered through the channels. News. The war with the rebels was going better recently. Dad's army—Lord Brandon's army, really—had retaken two cities in the last few months. The Grey Army was in retreat, for now. It would get worse again, I thought to myself. It always did.

"Turn that off," snapped Anastasia, walking into the room with an apple. I supposed Gemma had been successful in her attempt to make her eat something.

I turned it off.

"Have you not been wearing mascara this whole morning?" She continued as she sat down. "You look like you just rolled out of bed. I asked for one simple thing, for you to look presentable. You know, I wouldn't ask you if I had anyone else, but Mom and Dad are upstairs and Emily was crying, so...!"

"I got dressed in three minutes," I said, keeping my eyes on the blank tv screen. "In an outfit you picked out."

"The problem isn't the outfit," Anastasia said loudly. "It's you, and it's the way you are. You don't care about anyone but yourself. It's always about what Stepha wants. It always has to be about what you want."

I didn't say anything.


	2. fall apart

I dropped envelopes on the table one by one. Today it was all RSVPs to the coming ball. It had been a few weeks after it had been announced, and the whole household had pretty much gotten over it. My parents were annoyed but accepting of the first major event to happen at the palace in years, at least since I could remember. But the mail lacked what I was looking for.

Disappointed, I headed up to my room. I had been waiting several days for a particular letter so far, and it hadn't yet arrived, even though I was sure it was supposed to come today.

When I opened the door I immediately saw the pink envelope sitting on my nightstand and ran across the room. This was it, what I had been waiting for, for better or worse. They had to have some kind of magical spell to send the letter right to you. I crossed the room quickly and tore open the envelope, quickly running my eyes over the first lines of the letter.

 _Dear Princess Stephania of Eraklyon,_

 _We here at Alfea, College for Fairies, are pleased to accept you_

 **YES!**

I continued reading.

 _to our freshman class starting this fall. Packing lists, residence information, and tuition requirements to follow shortly by electronic message..._

My interest and energy dwindled after that first rush of excitement. When I had applied to Alfea shortly after hearing Lord Brandon's words, it had been almost an experiment, a bet with myself. I was so sure I wouldn't get in. Alfea only took the most talented fairies, and I wasn't that great with magic. I didn't even have my Winx transformation yet.

But I had gotten in.

It didn't change anything. I had proven to myself that I was a good fairy, kind of, but there was always the chance they let me in because I was a princess, or a daughter of Bloom of Sparx, or both. I couldn't pay the tuition, which was pretty astronomical, and if I was skating by as it was there was no chance of getting a scholarship. Not to mention the fact that Mom hated things that reminded her of her past, and my going to the school where she first learned magic was a pretty big reminder. And I couldn't leave my family. It wasn't that I wasn't willing, or that I was too loyal, it was just...it didn't seem possible. I wasn't sure how to live without being annoyed and lonely and isolated, and I couldn't imagine a world where all of that was gone. How could that be?

I couldn't live that life. I had to live this life. As much as I wanted to change that, it just wasn't possible. I didn't have the resources or the cooperation.

I should just throw this away, I thought. Throw it away and don't think about it again. I had gotten what I wanted, whatever that was, but this was as far as it could go.

I didn't throw it away. Instead, I folded up the letter and placed it gently under my pillow, where I knew it wouldn't be disturbed because we didn't have a maid. I wasn't sure why I was keeping it. Maybe I just wanted the reminder, or maybe I wanted to imagine that there was some kind of alternate universe where I had gotten in.

* * *

"You're late," Anastasia said when I came downstairs for dinner that evening.

I ignored her. She couldn't be so mean in front of everyone, and it was a full house tonight: Mom, who usually came down but sometimes preferred to eat in her room, Emily, who was a rarity at the table and nearly always in her room, Anastasia, and me. Dad was pretty much always in his room.

"Hi, Emily," I said instead, because this was the first I'd seen her all day. Maybe it made me a bad sister but I couldn't deal with how pathetic she was, all day, every day. It was better this way—I could still harbor affection for Emily when I saw her in small doses. If I had to be around her too much I was sure I'd hate her.

"Hi," Emily replied, picking at her food. "I hate carrots."

"Don't eat the carrots then," Anastasia briskly. "Pick them off."

We continued in silence for a while. Alfea nagged my brain, and I wasn't even sure why or how. Hesitantly, I turned to my mom.

She sat at the head of the table, which we all gathered around the far end of: Anastasia on her right, Emily on her left, and me next to Emily because she was generally more tolerable. There was a blank look in her eyes that she nearly always seemed to have nowadays. Still, I chanced it and opened my mouth. "Mom, you went to Alfea. What was it like?"

It was a dumb question. Mostly I just wanted her to talk about Alfea in general. She never did, and I knew it was a taboo topic, but I wasn't prepared for her reaction.

Mom's dazed expression turned bitter and angry, as though I'd said the worst possible thing. Always hyper aware of conflict, Anastasia's head shot up, her mouth pressing into a line, like it did when she got upset. Emily, less observant but totally dependent on our parents' moods, looked at me, troubled.

"I don't know what that means, Stepha," my mother said, in a clipped tone. In fact it was the first thing I had heard from her in months that she sounded sure of. Sometimes I felt like I hated her dazed, confused way, but I didn't prefer when she got angry. "Why do you want to know." It didn't sound like a question.

I wasn't sure if there was any answer that I could get out of trouble with, so I decided I might as well be frank. "Well, everyone knows that Alfea was where you found out you were a fairy, and the lost princess. And where you fought the Trix. And where you met Dad. So I just wondered what it was like."

"It was a school. I don't really have anything else to say about it." Mom suddenly grew very interested in the motion of her fork and knife. "There isn't anything else to say."

So no one else said anything.

Mom didn't really care for subtlety and stood up, her chair scraping behind her. "I have a headache. I'm going upstairs." She turned and left the room.

At Mom's obvious anger, Emily's fear increased and it showed on her face. "I'm going up too," she said, her voice catching, and I knew she was about to cry. She always cried when our parents were mad.

Even though Mom and Emily both annoyed me sometimes I didn't like to see them go. That left me alone with Anastasia, and—

"Why would you _do_ _that_?" Anastasia asked, still sitting across the table. I stood up to go but her glare followed me and she too stood up and walked over. "Why do you destroy every single thing? Why do you have to ruin...everything? I know, I know, I ask too much of you," her voice got louder and shrilled with every word, and I wanted to leave, but at the same time I just stood there. I just stood there. "But how hard is it to not do something? How hard is it to not talk?"

"I didn't do anything," I said, trying to be calm. I knew I was right. I really hadn't done anything. "It's not my fault that Mom got so upset—"

"Yes, yes it is your fault! Because you know this! You know we aren't to talk about that in this household and you still have to bring it up, because you're selfish!" Anastasia smacked me on the forehead with the heel of her hand. It stung, but only for a moment, reminding me of her displeasure. I shoved her away.

"What household? We're four people and three servants! Two of those are parttime! You're crazy, Emily's crazy, Mom never talks about anything cause she's so miserable and Dad's not a real king, and he's—"

"Shut up!" A rush of anger made me lose focus and I missed Anastasia's hand until it connected hard with my cheek. My face burned and I brought my cold fingers to it, feeling tears come to my eyes involuntarily. Her hand shook. "Shut up! You don't care that you've ruined the whole rest of the day and maybe tomorrow. You don't care about anyone but yourself. You make life hard for all of us just because you're a bitch. I ask you to do one thing, one thing, and it's try not to ruin the day...!"

Giving free range to her anger, she brought the heel of her hand down on my head several times, then shoved me roughly away.

I stumbled back for a moment and watched her crumple into herself and a chair, the spirit seeming to melt out of her. She sagged under the weight of her own head, covering her face with her pale arms. She looked a hundred years old. She began to cry.

"Go away," she said, her voice as hard as the marble statues in the dark, unused throne room.

I did. I wished I could go farther.


	3. supernova

**Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited!**

* * *

 _chapter three_

 _supernova_

* * *

"Well, yellow is out, obviously..." Anastasia flipped the page as Mom nodded.

Mom and Anastasia together were going to bankrupt us. I was sure of it. Not that it would be hard, but they that thrown themselves into this ball with such enthusiasm—such materialistic enthusiasm—that I had no idea where the money was coming from. Normally Anastasia was more cautious about this stuff than I was, but now I found myself asking, "should we really be getting all of this?"

Anastasia glared, probably still angry with me from our last fight the night before. Mom raised her eyebrows a little, her voice less distant than it had been in a long time. "Everyone needs new clothes for the ball, Stepha. We have to look presentable."

"I don't want to be in a room full of strangers," my other older sister, Emily, whined from her place on Mom's other side. "I don't want to go."

"You have to go," Anastasia said in a tone as close to snapping as she got around our mother.

"My darling..." said Mom, not finishing the sentence and sounding almost like a real mom. The war, her abandonment by her family and friends, and our humiliation had aged and confused her, and like Emily and my father, she spent most of her time in her room. In these past few weeks, though, she seemed to have more energy, more will.

That was why I hoped it was safe to ask a question I'd been wondering for a while. "Mom, you're a really powerful fairy. Can't you just get simple dresses and do spells on them?"

Mom's eyes went blank for a moment, like a depressive spell was settling over her.

Anastasia glared at me. I knew I wasn't really supposed to talk about Mom being a fairy. We weren't supposed to bring up a lot of things around her. I had just thought...

Mom gave a long sigh and kept her eyes on the magazine that she and Anastasia had been perusing. "You know I don't really do magic anymore, Stepha. And fashion spells were never my forte anyway. It wouldn't look good."

I nodded but didn't reply. I always wished we could make our lives better with magic, but there honestly wasn't much we could change. My mom couldn't make money with magic, and she couldn't convince the rest of the nobles that she and my dad were good rulers. What else was there?

It didn't really matter in the long run. Magal Fairy College was...fine. It was fine for my future, which was to live here, not upset my parents, and occasionally pretend to be a princess.

Hopeless. My future was hopeless.

And it didn't even matter. I hadn't even transformed into my Winx yet, despite trying nearly every day when I was alone in my room. The Alfea letter remained hidden and nearly forgotten. I was pretty sure the deadline to confirm attendance was coming up. Oh, well.

"I think a dark blue for Stepha," said Anastasia in a spiteful tone, glaring at me. "So when she inevitably spills something on it, it won't be so noticeable."

"Well, that would go with her hair," Mom agreed, glancing up. While Anastasia and Emily were both blonde like my dad, my hair was redder, though not as red as hers.

"Ballrooms are always cold, and I hate being cold," Emily said, whining again.

"Emily, you're seventeen years old, and a princess. Deal with it." Anastasia said harshly, glancing then at our mother to see if she would care. Her attention was elsewhere, and we all followed her gaze to see my father coming down to breakfast. This ball was really changing things. My father barely ever came downstairs. Even Anastasia, despite her snappish comments, had acted a lot more tolerable lately.

"Good morning, Daddy," Anastasia greeted, surprise on her face. "You're...up."

He nodded, sitting down at the table.

"Daddy," Emily cried, taking his arm and assuming a supplicant expression. "Daddy, is it going to be cold?"

"Is what going to be cold?"

"The ball, Daddy."

Dad huffed indignantly, gently peeling her fingers off him. "I don't know about that. I don't know anything about the damn thing."

"The girls are excited," Mom said. "Let them be excited."

"I'm not excited," Emily said. "I don't want to go. I don't know anyone there."

"Emmaline, please." Mom said in a warning tone. Weird. She had done two mom-like things in one meal.

"I'm sure Anastasia is doing a good job with the planning," said Dad. Anastasia, overjoyed, I was sure, to hear a tiny amount of praise from the people she strove to please most in the world, beamed. "But it won't be a good evening. Any day I have to see Brandon is a bad one. Not to mention all those other traitors who helped him...!"

He started coughing, and I remembered why Dad stayed in his room: ever since a particular rebel attack involving poison gas, any strong display of emotion ended the same way, with him hacking up a lung.

"Don't work yourself up, Sky," Mom said anxiously. "Especially not over Brandon. It's not worth it."

"It's not worth anything," said my dad, recovering his breath. "We aren't worth anything."

I had to agree with him on that. We weren't worth anything.

* * *

As the ball got closer the palace got brighter and louder. Extra staff were hired, caterers and cooks overran the kitchen, and the Eraklyonian crown jewels arrived in a polished silver box. My mother distributed them amongst the four of us according to our dresses, which had also arrived.

Mine was navy, as Anastasia had decreed, but pretty, with little flowers across the bodice. Emily's was red, to bring out her green eyes, in the words of my mother, but I knew Anastasia had suggested the red because Emily's skin was so sallow. She always looked sickly.

Anastasia's dress was the fanciest of all, a pretty, lilac colored ball gown with silver roses embroidered up the skirt, but no one really minded, because Anastasia lived for this stuff and who knew when it would happen again? Besides, she would be queen one day (Dragon help us) so it was just as well she had the nicest gown. Maybe I would have made a bigger thing about it but Anastasia had been so nice recently I didn't have anything to complain about.

However, the collection of Eraklyonian crown jewels had dwindled over the years as the monarchy fell onto the hard times it was currently on. Perhaps that was why Lord Brandon was keeping an eye on it for us nowadays. Other than some rings and earrings, there was only a few very nice pieces of jewelry.

Our mom would wear the most valuable and oldest piece, a ruby and diamond diadem, and of course the Pendant of Eraklyon, which she kept all the time because it was a family gift and not a crown jewel. She had decided that the two other tiaras, one garnets and one amethysts, would go to Emily and Anastasia, because they matched their gowns. I would've liked to wear a tiara too, but there wasn't one for me, so I was getting an opal ring to wear.

The day the ball arrived felt like a big holiday. I had enjoyed the buildup so much, all the light and noise, that the actual day was almost a letdown. I dreaded the return to the darkness and the silence. Even Anastasia had been better. Mom had seemed like a living person for once. It was like how we would have been if everything hadn't gone wrong and gone bad. I hoped I hadn't gotten too used to it.

The increase in staff carried over to ladies maids for makeup and hair and my dress. I had read somewhere that Queen Stella of Solaria had seven different hair stylists, one of each day of the week, but this was not Solaria and I could barely handle a strange woman zipping up the back of my dress. My only chance at a familiar face—Gemma—was off assisting my mother.

I heard a knock at the door, which told me it must be Anastasia before it even opened. She was the only one in the house who knocked. "Can you open that?" I asked one of the maids as I stepped into my shoes. Usually I would've waited as long as I could for my older sister to go away, but she had been in such a strange, good mood recently that I was willing to let her in.

When she entered, she was already dressed. Her blonde hair, tinged with much less red than mine, was pulled up, and set into it was the amethyst tiara. The same jewels sparkled around her neck, and her gown swished and swayed as she walked across the floor like she had grown up in it.

I was so busy admiring her outfit that I completely missed the little box in her hands until she handed it to me.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Open it, Stepha," was all she said, a small smile on her face, and I was reminded how nice Anastasia was when she wasn't angry or scared, which was so often. I opened the box.

Inside was a string of pearls, and a small, silver tiara, also studded in small pearls.

"It's not exactly the crown jewels," Anastasia admitted, "but it's what we could afford. I told Mom you needed something too." Her tone abruptly shifted to harsh, but this time it seemed like a facade. "We can't have you looking like a mess in front of everyone."

"I love them," I said honestly, and then, surprising myself, I said just as honestly, "thank you."

"You'll look beautiful," Anastasia said.

She sounded so kind and genuine, a tone generally reserved for our parents only. It didn't change how she normally acted, it didn't change the fact that she was a psycho. And she would never apologize for it; even now I was sure that she felt justified in her every action. But going through life waking on eggshells around my parents and fighting losing battles with my sisters was tiring. I would take what I could get. I had no idea how long nice Anastasia was going to last; probably not much longer after the ball was over and everyone returned to their normal lives. But for right now it was nice.

An hour later, and I was ready for the ball.

* * *

"...That we are here, celebrating this anniversary, despite the turmoil all around us is a testament to Eraklyonian perseverance. It is a testament to the fact that we will triumph. That Eraklyon will always be united. And with this in mind it gives me great pleasure to announce Their Majesties, King Sky Erendor Tagon lef Anias, and Queen Bloom Samara Rohesia lef Anias."

The crowd cheered for my parents as they acknowledged Lord Brandon's words from their thrones. I realized I wasn't smiling and started, hoping no one had seen. I was so bad at this stuff. Not that anyone would see, since the three of us were lined up in age order slightly behind our dad's throne, so if they were looking at anyone it would be Anastasia.

"Yuck," said Emily, without moving her smile too much. "They're doing full names. Mom won't have liked that."

That was true. Every reigning Eraklyonian had to take the name of the first two kings or queens before them, and it was no secret that my mom and my grandmother Queen Samara had had issues. She absolutely hated having that as her middle name now.

"Their Highnesses," Lord Brandon continued, "Crown Princess Anastasia Maryanna lef Anias," the crowd cheered for Anastasia, who smiled glowingly. "Princess Emmaline Antonya lef Anias," another cheer went up, and my palms got sweaty for no reason. I wished my outfit had included gloves.

"And Princess Stephania Vanessa lef Anias." Hopefully the crowd cheered after that, but I didn't really hear because I was too busy reminding myself to smile and stand up straight. I knew there was no reason to be nervous, but that didn't stop me from being nervous. I had not anticipated them announcing each of us individually. And I always forgot how big the ballroom was with all the lights on. There were so many people here, all nobles an either high-ranking Eraklyonians, and we hadn't really rehearsed the ball. I had just assumed it was going to be like a party with more social obligations than usual.

I was also focused on smiling while Lord Brandon made a few more remarks and then my parents went to the center of the ballroom to open the dancing.

"I don't want to dance," Emily whisper-whined.

"Well, you don't have to do too much," I said, somewhat dreading the dancing myself. Each of us princesses had been given a list of people we had to dance with, and in what order. After my parents finished their dance, I was going to get a general called Detek. Because Emily was a higher rank than me, and Anastasia was higher than both of us, the two of them got most of the really important guys, which was a weight off my mind. What worried me, though, was the fact that the next person my mother would be dancing with after my father was Lord Brandon, since as prime minister he was the next highest-ranked person in the room.

My anxiety only grew as I watched my parents dance rather somberly. They had wan smiles on their faces. My father was a good dancer, but my mother had never really learned, and he kind of just dragged her around for most of it. Still, there was a nice quality to the performance that had nothing to do with skill: you could tell they loved each other by the way my dad was dragging my mom around—with love.

I guessed it was nice to know your parents loved each other. I wished I felt like they loved me as much, but oh well. You can't have everything.

The music drew to a close and my parents finished their dance to applause. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a man a little younger than my father and wearing a military uniform making his way over.

"General Detek," I greeted, hoping my educated guess was right. Happily, it was, and he made a small bow.

"Your Highness. I hope you've been doing well this evening."

"Uh, yes. Thank you. I've been doing well." I cursed at myself in my head. I was so bad at princess small talk. Maybe it was because the person I talked to most was Anastasia and we were always arguing. Happily, the music began and he bowed Tom start the dance.

I knew the basics of a couple of dances, nothing too serious or fancy. Anastasia knew them all and was constantly reprimanding me, but I had learned that as long as I stayed out of the guy's way, I'd be fine.

It was always a little awkward dancing with old important guys, though I'd only been to a few balls before. I never knew whether or not to make conversation or where to focus my eyes. This time, my eyes found something to focus on quickly enough: my mother, dancing unsmilingly and unskillfully with the substantially better Lord Brandon. Whatever unpolished charm she had when she danced with my dad was gone, replaced by a palpable, stony tension between the two of them. They weren't talking. Lord Brandon was smiling. My mother was not.

Watching my mom had distracted me and I stumbled. General Detek held me up as my knees stopped working for a second, and then I had to make a series of quick, awkward steps over myself to get back into the dance without stepping on his feet or my dress. "Sorry," I murmured, embarrassed.

The general chuckled with a half-smile on his face. "That's alright, your Highness. You still dance better than your father ruled."

I froze inside. I knew that the nobles and generals made these kind of jokes about us. That was why they had elected Lord Brandon in the first place, because they didn't like my parents. But I had never believed that one would be so bold as to say it to my face at a ball celebrating my parents' rule. I had no idea how to respond. If anything witty or funny had come to mind I would've said it then, but just when I needed it most I couldn't think of anything sarcastic to say at all.

I suppose, in true bad-princess form, my confusion showed on my face, because he gave an indulgent chuckle, like I was a little kid who wouldn't get the joke til I was older. I kind of was. "I apologize," he said unapologetically. "Not very good manners to say it in front of the princess."

"I guess not," I replied, with not nearly as much dignity and coldness as I could have hoped. Oh, please, I beseeched the Great Dragon in my head, please make this almost over.

The Great Dragon ignored my prayer, and I endured three more awkward minutes of dancing with Detek and staring down the opal ring on my hand which was on his shoulder.

When it was over he took his leave after another bow, which though slow and deep had an almost flippant quality to it, as though I just happened to be in front of something he would have done anyway. I wasn't sure what to say so I didn't say anything. Now that the ball was opened the Royals familys and the prime minister sat down at a long table, a signal for other guests to take their seats.

This meant I was close enough to hear Lord Brandon say to my father, "I thought you were going to wear your uniform." My dad was in a traditional suit and cape, a chain draped across his chest to signify being the king. "To work with the idea of military might."

My father's eyes narrowed. "I didn't realize you got to dictate what I wear now, too."

"One of us has to. You're dressed like a king in a roomful of generals. They won't respect that."

"They don't respect me because of you," my father snarled. "Maybe they shouldn't. I did trust you, after all, and that makes me an idiot."

"Well, it never would have been so bad if you and Bloom set aside your pride for a moment—" Lord Brandon's voice was heated too, this was the longest I'd ever heard them talk. I tried to act like I wasn't eavesdropping, but I was listening to every word .

"Stop trying to make this my fault, Brandon. You had every chance to be a friend."

I didn't know much about my parents and Lord Brandon. I knew he had betrayed them by becoming Prime Minister, because he had been my father's squire. The fact that my dad was so angry at him had always made me think they had been close friends, but I hadn't heard them argue before.

"People were dying, Sky—"

"People are still dying!" My father said louder than was probably politically expedient. "That hasn't changed. You changed. After—"

"I changed because I realized you were a bad king, Sky. The fact you still can't see that is very telling." Now Lord Brandon was speaking even louder, above the music. People were beginning to stare.

"The worst kind of king is the one you have made me. A useless one," Dad roared at the top of his lungs, jumping to his feet, slamming his hand on the table. "Eraklyon is even worse off now than twenty years ago, you traitor!"

My mind went blank with shock.

I was sure Lord Brandon responded but I had no idea with what. All I heard was my own heartbeat in my ears. Surely this had to be a dream. Later I would wonder how Anastasia and Emily were reacting but I didn't have the presence of mind to look at them. Both men's stood now, angry light in their eyes. My eyes, like everyone else's in the ballroom, were fixed on my father, king of Eraklyon, and Lord Brandon, prime minister of Eraklyon, about to come to blows with each other at a ball celebrating the unity of Eraklyon.

I didn't even have any feelings, this situation was so far removed from reality. This couldn't possibly be happening. I was dreaming, this was a nightmare.

And then my father, the king of Eraklyon, punched the prime minister in the face, in front of every high ranking noble on the planet and a dozen photographers.

Our lives were over, I realized dimly. Whatever happened in the next few seconds, after my father, basically unprovoked, had punched the prime minister in the face, it would bare so little resemblance to the lives we had lead before that those might as well be finished. Maybe he would go to jail. Maybe the minister would sue us.

And then the prime minister _decked_ my father.

My mother screamed at that, and leapt up, and then kept screaming, yelling obscenities at Lord Brandon over the noise of the nobility. The palace soldiers hovered around the dais, completely baffled on what to do. Protect the king from the minister? Protect the minister from the king? Protect the people from their clinically insane leaders?

I suddenly realized I was standing up, with my hands hovering around my mouth, and glanced around to my sisters. Emily had started crying hysterically, slumped over in her chair, head in hands. Anastasia was also still sitting, still stick straight spine like a perfect princess, but her demeanor was that of frozen, abject horror. Her mouth was an exact line. Every drop of blood had drained from her face.

My father staggered forward, leaning back onto the table. My mother continued to cry out in his stead. "How dare you! After everything! After everything he did for you—after everything you did to us! After you betrayed your friends! Betrayed people who trusted you! It's not our fault what happened! Not anyone's fault, and you became—"

"There was no betrayal! _Godsdamn_ , Bloom, you know what happened! I was doing what was best for the planet!" Lord Brandon snapped at my mother, and another shock rippled through the crowd.

It felt as though my head had left my body and was floating away like a balloon. It felt as though I was a ghost, watching all of this horror from a long, long distance away.

I wished I was dead. I wished we were all dead. I wished a gaping hole in the earth would open up and swallow myself, my unfortunate sisters, my ridiculous parents, and the insane prime minister.

That didn't happen. Instead, Anastasia now rose, seemingly regaining her senses. Faintly, I felt a surge of gratitude for that action, for her having the presence of mind to do anything. She said a few words to the nearest soldier, who relayed her message to the surrounding ones and they began to clear the room of nobility, who I had kind of stopped paying attention to as I watched all three heads of state in Eraklyon destroy themselves.

A few soldiers still hovered as my father and Lord Brandon didn't appear to be going in for any more blows, and now he was yelling at my father and mother, and they were yelling back at him, and they were all yelling at the same time and I had no idea what was being said.

I had had enough. I went, half for running, for the door that was nearly hidden behind the thrones. Anastasia and Emily didn't know the staff passages, so they followed me as I lead us through the servants' steps to our bedroom floor so that we were spared the further humiliation of walking through the big doors at the far end of the room, and the foyer, where the congregation of nobles was now being dispersed by the soldiers. As we exited the public eye I heard Anastasia burst into tears behind me.

We could still hear the voices drifting up from the grand staircase that lead from the foyer to our bedroom floor. I tried not to listen.

No one said anything to one another as we went to our separate rooms. Anastasia and Emily were both sobbing. I felt like crying too, just because of how embarrassed and confused I was. I felt sort of disgusted by everything that had happened tonight. What the hell had happened exactly? What the hell?

I closed my door, and then I locked it for no reason. I sat down on my bed, and leaned my cheek on the cool glass of the window, staring out into the dead and unkept gardens in the moonlight. What time was it?

Barely eleven at night, and my whole life had been ruined. My whole family's lives had been ruined. The perennial question came to me: would this be forever?

How could it not be?

I didn't know how long I sat there, the same thoughts running through my head in a circle. As summer ended, my life fell into place. Was cemented into place. I would go to Magal Fairy College like Anastasia. In succession we would graduate and come back to the palace, where we would spend our lives attending event similar to the one that had just happened, but with less physical combat, and perhaps Anastasia would be called upon to marry an inoffensive noble or even a neighboring prince. She and Emily would spend their lives in service to my parents, forever. And what was I going to do?

I was going to rot away and die in this cold, damp palace, with my lifeless, joyless family, on this ugly, dirt-poor planet. I had no other options. I had no future.

And suddenly I was furious. Not just at the prime minister for putting us in this situation, but for my parents, for being weak and stupid and deserving it, and at Anastasia, for being the worst person she could be under the circumstances, and Emily for being so spineless, so nothing. And at myself, because there wasn't anything I could do about it, because I wasn't strong enough, and I wasn't smart enough, and I wasn't talented enough—

Not satisfied with shooting sparks from my hands, a trick I had learnt recently and did to blow off steam, I picked up a jewelry box and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a smack but it didn't abate my anger. With my arm, I shoved everything off my desk and pens, books, and papers clattered and fell to the floor.

And suddenly an unfamiliar, refreshing feeling washed over me. I felt myself rise off the ground. Bright colors flashed in front of me. It was over so abruptly that I didn't even get the chance to wonder what was happening until everything faded away and my feet again touched the floor, and then I realized that I had done it. I had transformed into my Winx for the first time.

Forgetting the whole awful evening for a second I ran to the mirror to look at myself. I had a little pink skirt and top. I had wings. I had wings! I concentrated for a second to lift myself slightly above the ground, taking in the new yet natural feeling of flying.

I lowered myself to the ground and concentrated again, and suddenly detransformed back to my navy ballgown and tiara and pearls.

For a minute I was overcome with excitement, which suddenly died with the sound of crying echoing throughout the hall. I peeked out my door. Gemma was leading my sobbing mother into her room. At least she seemed to be grasping the gravity of the situation.

Her door closed. Reality sunk back into my head and I fell back onto my bed. What did it matter? It wasn't like I had any other options.

As I shifted, the Alfea acceptance letter crunched under my pillow.

I had one other option.

No, I didn't. No way. They'd never let me go, I didn't have the money, I hadn't accepted. They'd never let me go. And I couldn't just leave.

Well, I could. If I left tonight, right now. My parents wouldn't notice. Especially with all the crafts arriving and taking off from the ball right now. They definitely wouldn't notice.

But I would never do that. That was insane. That was...

They probably weren't still accepting students. They probably were full. And if they were full, I'd have to turn back and go home and face consequences.

And if they weren't full, I'd never go home ever again.

No. I was being crazy. No. I had never flown a craft to another planet before. I had never been the Magix before. This was stupid. I was being stupid. I was stupid.

If I was going to go, I would have to do it now, or never think of it again.

And how would my parents punish me if I came back? What would they possibly hold over my head worse than my father punching the prime minister and my mother cursing him out in front of every important person in the planet? Nothing. There was nothing I could ever do that would be worse than what happened tonight.

If I was going to go, which I...

I was going to go.

I was going to pack, I thought. I had to do it now because I had to be out before they would notice. What did I need? What did I need for this? I didn't have any books. I had barely any money. I needed money. I would have to figure that out later. What that meant I didn't exactly know, but I grabbed my backpack and tossed my pencil case in, then pulled my three favorite shirts out of the closet.

Skirts. Pants. Dresses. Shoes. For once I was glad I didn't have a lot of clothes, though I would have to leave behind a lot to fit it all into my backpack. I didn't have anything but clothes, though, and pens. What else would I need for school?

I had my phone. I had my letter, whatever good it would do me a few weeks before the start of school. Hairbrush, I needed a hairbrush, and my mascara, and my lip balm, and...my toothbrush. I grabbed that.

Was that it? I felt like I was forgetting a million things, but that was all I had room for anyway, so I grabbed my backpack and put it on my shoulders before realizing that I was still wearing the navy ballgown. Quickly, I changed, leaving the dress crumpled on the floor, still half-standing from the amount of petticoats.

I should write a note, I thought. Just in case anyone worried I'd been kidnapped. Only Gemma would worry. Anastasia would tell me that being kidnapped wasn't becoming of a princess. Emily would cry, because that was her response to anything. I wasn't sure my parents would notice.

The note was very short: _I went to visit a friend. I am safe and left by myself. Stepha_

I left that on my bed.

I passed Anastasia's room, then Emily's. I wondered where our parents were upon seeing the door to my mother's room open, and her ballgown hanging on her closet door. She had already changed. She was probably with my father, commiserating with him.

Gemma. The thought of leaving her without saying goodbye made me feel worse than the same thought with my parents or sisters, but I told myself it would be okay. Gemma had always known I was invisible in this family. She would understand.

And then I went to the kitchen. I was surprised to see it was vacant, but I realized the caterers must have brought a lot of food themselves. Everyone was fleeing from this palace, this ball, like rats from a sinking ship. It had barely taken me a half-hour to pack and already the brightness and noise of the palace had withered away. Extra trays of appetizers and courses sat around, but there wasn't much I could take with me. I still was freaking out to myself over the fact that I was doing this, and my hands were shaking. I grobbed a few things to eat on the way, since I hadn't had dinner—it would take a few hours to get to Magix, and then I would have to wait until the school opened to make my case.

I was going to do this. I was going to be free.


End file.
